Tragedy Poems - Poems about Tragedy

She’s at it again. Wasting my ink staging yet another death. I draft her crimson melodramas with third-hand metaphors as she sips on ‘hope’ like tonic laced with rust and wears ‘moor’ like thrift-store perfume. I thread her June into forced sonnets (poor things), before her gin drowned the meter in proofed regret. Even a pen gets impatient. Sometimes she pauses, as though it might save her— I...

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A night in fragments— Breath reeked mildewed regrets, and static collided behind my eyes. I tasted shattered neon, sipping cheap club gin. Even alcohol can’t silence the poet— I mock her perfumed clichés, but still draft her eulogy in thrifted elegance. “I hate writing blind,” I muttered as gin bled through crooked verses— March 14th, a drunk poet sighed— Her pen staged the week’s second...

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The world got caught under her breath They could never hear her precious mumbling, only realized when she left One second she was there One second she was floating in timeless air In a wisp of whimsical space She would show her elegant face A polaroid of a perfect smile Commanding regretful tears and remembrance of all the distant years Her blood was...

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Perhaps I wouldn't move if the train came. Not out of courage, just curiosity. What does it feel like? or just the experience, maybe. I sit down in the shower sometimes until the water forgets it's warm and I forget I have skin. In that moment, and that moment only I think nothing but oh, I feel- I feel everything like a flood, swirling, raging inside, beating ferociously on the locked...

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Of imagery in yonder meadow she had much to say from daffodils on rolling hills to ivy covered fences Yet of tragedy she would not write ...

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Indie swizz Green and white On top of hills A view unlike A tale of heaven, a place to repent Now is none but a grave of men, The song of winds turned to echoes of mist, The crown of hind, now blood missed Quite waters, a red fountain Land of joy now weeps with mothers' cries A...

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She wore a ribbon red as flame, he carved her secret in his name. They danced beneath the open skies, with stars like lanterns in their eyes. The campfire laughed, the horses swayed, the fiddles sang while nightbirds prayed. Their vows were stitched with whispered thread, "Till death," they swore, "no tears to shed." But Fortune's wheel turned rough and wild-- the lawman came...

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A tragedy occurred was the news A young boy died in a bus crash He was with other students too When the bus got a tire flat To send your child on a field trip And have it end his life is insane Parents hearts forever ripped Finally they released his name Maybe seat belts on busses may Void a future tragedy one day But...

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Becky, I believe that I am dying. I feel the icy angel hovering near. Our time together swiftly now is flying And I must leave you all alone my dear. Becky dear, I ask you now to hold me. Freely I admit that I was wrong. I really should have heeded what you told me. Temptation never did find me that strong. Becky,...

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The world feeds on tragedy, with an insatiable hunger for misfortune, They demand confessions, not out of care, but to dissect and devour the soul, When I reveal my pain, their eyes become glassy with disgust, And their pity drips like acid on my open and bleeding wounds. Perhaps that's why I've made my sadness a "nameless grave," A place...

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LOSS BEGS THE QUESTIONS How many nights have you cried yourself to sleep How many days have you wondered why Are your Hopes and dreams intact Are your memories clouded Does anger fill your soul Does uncertainty stalk your steps Does your heart ache Is your heart broken Is your play still filled with imaginative fun Is your future bright Do you wish things were...

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The true love of Motherhood is not for the weak. They speak of the joys and the toys But not of the lies and goodbyes. A part of you dies with the sound of the first infant cries, You will give it your all and they will still fall. The true love of Motherhood is rather bleak. They don’t speak of the pain of your...

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There are two sides to my buddy, heartless and friendly. But if you stretch it to three there's diplomatically deadly. Heartless and deadly, it doesn't translate at all exactly, that she's mean and cruel, It's just that I can be forgettable. When friendly is lost in heartless, I fall into a Shakespearean tragedy. My emotions start to cut me into countless feelings, "To be, or not to...

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“Cabernet Valentine” Oh my sweet silent Valentine veins flowing life Secrets are meant to be kept my obedient wife Luscious ruby mouth perked open for kissing Shouldn't be too many acrylics inside missing Most special day of the year celebrated lovers Jack-o'-lantern face that is loved by mothers You were stunning under your sexy lace negligee If you hadn't screamed...

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Migrants on the move from violence their only possession breath-space on a smuggler’s boat secured with back-bent harvests in pretzel-bent systems weight of crates of strawberries hoisted on hell-bent backs just trying to reach Spanish-shores’-east from Moroccan beach with a camel-mystique —the seaway west of Africa a rags-wearing-flotsam grave migrants on the move from Cameroon die —or survive a militia-cocktail blend of...

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